


Ruby Red

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Homesickness, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Twitter, M/M, Rated M for Misha's Mouth, Self-Doubt, That Picture Ruined Me, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trailer Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silence falls between them, rather than around. It’s unsettling; with only the faint rattle of the AC to keep them both from peeling their ears off like a real-life shapeshifter. Then Jensen looks at the ground and laughs, “I let my daughter give me a manicure.”</p><p>"Yeah, I've had my fair share of dress ups and tea parties."</p><p>Jensen looks up for a moment, intrigued. "You've had tea parties with Maison?"</p><p>Misha looks like a trapeze artist caught behind a green screen. "... Yeah, with Mais."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruby Red

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I was writing this when this post birthed itself into existence: https://twitter.com/JensenAckles/status/744645192611815424
> 
> Jensen's posts have been giving me a lot of mushy feelings lately. And anyone who knows me personally knows I am a highly sarcastic person. I've been put in a very unnatural state.

 

Misha bursts through Jensen’s trailer to the man’s arms up in surrender—a rare sight around these parts of British Columbia. The only things surrendering anytime soon are likely the trees from the harsh weather. "Jensen Mother-Ross-fucking Ackles, you'll pay for this!"

"I see you found the stink bomb," Jensen retorts with a snicker.

A _snicker._ Not the warm, gooey, slightly sweet, slightly salty caramel-and-peanut-marriage milk bar Snicker. No, a snicker—you know, that thing people do when they think they’ve got it _all_ figured out.

Misha narrows his eyes, a new confusion settling across his face when he realizes. "What?"

Jensen’s eyes go wide. "What?"

"Okay, first of all, you're an asshole. Secondly, _you're an asshole_! How dare you break Twitter! _I_ break things!"

"Sorry, must have skipped over that qualification on your resume.”

“It was added _onto_ my resume after that unfaithful day.” Misha takes Jensen’s non-committal _humph,_ and plots to the loveseat like a four-year-old refusing to abide by standard naptime procedures, and throws his ass onto the cushion next to Jensen. “Alright, it _was_ pretty cute. But that shade of red was _so_ not your color.” Nothing. Not even early onset comedy elbows.

A silence falls between them, rather than around. It’s unsettling; with only the faint rattle of the AC to keep them both from peeling their ears off like a real-life shapeshifter. Then Jensen looks at the ground and laughs, “I let my daughter give me a manicure.”

"Yeah, I've had my fair share of dress ups and tea parties."

Jensen looks up for a moment, intrigued. "You've had tea parties with Maison?"

Misha looks like a trapeze artist caught behind a green screen. "... Yeah, with Mais."

Jensen, too defeated to laugh full-body, just wrings his hands in his lap.

This thing they have, he and Jensen, is not by any means the dynamic duo that's Jared and Jensen, but Misha likes to think he's got a good grasp on Jensen Ackles. Not the Jensen Ackles in front of the camera, but behind it—the guy that will infallibly make you laugh with a simple look, the guy that'll deceive you with his charm and good looks because underneath the smolder and the Southern bravado, is a giant softie.

The guy Misha never pictured falling head-over-ass for.

"Sorry," he says, as if he committed a truly astounding crime, crossing his arms. If what they say about the direct correlation between angel kisses and freckles is true, Jensen’s plenty blessed.

Misha shakes his head with the slightest effort, careful not to startle Jensen, but retaining all the sincerity (which is also rare around these parks with Jensen and Jared as his costars). "You don't have to apologize."

"My life changed, man." Jensen lifts his head to meet Misha's blue eyes, which pool with enough concern to flood the Atlantic Ocean.

“I know.”

Misha does. He knows from Jensen’s point of view, but also his own. He never pictured settling down with anyone, let alone the love of his life. Now he has two more he can call that.

"She looks just like Danni, but it's more than that, she's...” A single tear cascades from his long, tanned face. Misha’s finger itches in his lap. Not yet, he thinks. “She entered my life, and I feel like I'm leaving hers."

Misha’s not sure how he knows exactly what to say next. Maybe he’s had the same conversation in his head. Maybe he needs to hear the same thing:

"You're not leaving anyone's life, Jen. If anything, you're bringing her more opportunities. I mean, when I grew up, yeah, you want your mom or dad to be around more often, but we weren't financially sound, and that tore into us—tore into _me_ , you know, _literally,_ I..."

Jensen's other hand folds over Misha's, thumb running a couple laps around the jutting bone on his wrist. Misha calms his breathing before speaking again. "She'll understand one day. And if she doesn't, she'll remember every _Extreme Face Makeover,_ every dress up, every tea party..."

"You mean the ones orchestrated by you?"

"Obviously. Who else's has she been attending?"

"I don't know, I hear Jared's involve mutual princess braids."

"Damn him."

Jensen sniffs before turning to face Misha fully. God, those eyes. "Thanks."

"Always." Misha’s not sure how long his rake the freshly fallen green leaves within Jensen’s, but sooner than later, he’s dropping his unmade bedhead into the crook of Jensen’s neck. He feels Jensen respire against his temple, his penny-colored whiskers brushing against Misha like the bristles on a sunbaked comb. “You know I don’t mind the whole Chia Pet look, but would it _kill_ you to shampoo?”

“As a matter of fact, it might, it’s called poison exposure.”

“ _Poison exp_ —Jensen, we’re exposed to poison every day,” Misha protests, lifting his head.

“Please,” Jensen scoffs, “what products?”

“Like the Ruby Red lipstick JJ was putting on you.”

Jensen runs his fingers over his lips with twisted concern before breathing a small, “Oh. Well at least I’m not the one who decided it would be a good idea to go prancing around in sulfur.”

“ _One_ time!” Misha argues pointedly. “Besides, it was Jared’s idea.”

“Please, Jared’s done a lot of stupid things, but I highly doubt he’d do that.”

“Oh really? And tell me, why would I drag him into that?”

“Because you want him out of the picture,” Jensen declares, like it’s the most obvious thing, and then shoves Misha’s face so he tastes the lined armrest of the couch. Kinky. “So you can have me all to yourself.”

Misha scoffs, pushing Jensen with the same force, “Excuse _me,_ Mr. Fucking Rocket Scientist, but there’s an error in your calculations: _I_ would have died, too. That is, if we got any closer.”

“So you two wanted to get away from me, is that it?” Jensen retorts, shoveling a fake tear spilling out his right eye with his index finger. He even goes as far as to sniffle—like _he’s_ the child in the Ackles-Harris family. Misha can’t imagine the therapy coming to JJ. “Am I really that bad to work with?”

“Oh my God! You _finally_ see me eye-to-eye!”

“I swear to God, Mish, if you get arrested, don’t piss away your one phone call on me. I won’t pick up.”

“That’s okay, I’ve already been arrested.” Jensen narrows his eyes before Misha clarifies, “Well, _literally,_ and figuratively. Arrested by those stunning green eyes, that is.” There’s a waggle in Misha’s own eyebrows.

“Please,” Jensen says, “my ass is my best feature and you know it.”

Misha sighs. He’ll think of a witty comeback eventually. He always does.

But for now, he lets his head fall on Jensen’s shoulder again.

 

 


End file.
